Stainton was worried. He fluttered about her. He wanted to ring for servants to bring half-a-dozen things that Muriel would not accept. He wanted the smallest details of her symptoms. He wanted to send for a doctor.
"Go away," Muriel pleaded. "Please go away."
"But, dearie——"
"I wish I were back in New York."
Stainton, though he now feared the sea, was ready to undertake the return trip on the morrow.
"No, no," moaned Muriel. "Of course, now we are here, we must see things. But I won't have a doctor, Jim. Can't you see how it is with me? I shall be all right in an hour."
"All right, dearie; all right. I shall sit here by you."
"Please don't. I'm horrid when I'm sick."
"Not to me," said Jim.
"But I am. I look so horrid."